


the flavor of your lips (is enough to keep me here)

by QueenWithABeeThrone



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Family Fluff, Humor, M/M, Shovel Talk, children and teenagers terrifying fully-grown men, or an attempt at it, shhh just bask in the adorable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-06
Updated: 2014-09-06
Packaged: 2018-02-16 08:25:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2262747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenWithABeeThrone/pseuds/QueenWithABeeThrone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"I took my Criminalistics exams three days ago."</i>
</p>
<p> <i>"So?"</i></p>
<p> <i>"So I know three different ways of killing someone with a bread knife."</i></p>
<p> <i>"Oh my god, you're giving me the shovel talk."</i></p>
<p>Or, five Starks who gave Theon Greyjoy the shovel talk and two who didn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the flavor of your lips (is enough to keep me here)

**Author's Note:**

> I refuse to be sorry.
> 
> anon on Tumblr wanted _Modern day stark family being the family You Do Not Fuck With, and theon kinda just quietly freaking out because robb's so sweet and nice but also A Stark?_ it somehow translated in my brain into "Theon gets the shovel talk from all the Starks". poor boy.

The Starks are kinda terrifying.

Okay, so scratch that: the Starks _are_ terrifying. Theon should know, he’s been an honorary member of the family for years by now. He’s seen Robb and Jon come after Joffrey Baratheon for hurting Sansa, seen the calculating and slightly threatening looks Sansa sends Gendry whenever Arya brings him over, seen Arya and Rickon follow Jojen and Bran on their dates like hawks. Particularly noisy hawks with black and brown belts in various martial arts, but, well, still.

He should know, and so it shouldn’t shock him that once he and Robb start dating, the Starks are suddenly very, very interested in him.

But it does.

—

It’s the first week of their new relationship, and funnily enough, nothing’s actually changed. It’s just that makeouts and hand-holding and very enthusiastic blowjobs and handjobs are a thing in their routine now.

Speaking of blowjobs, hot _damn_ can Robb suck dick like a pro, but we’re getting off-track here.

So. Among the things that haven’t changed in their routine is the Saturday themed movie/TV show marathon, and this week they’re marathoning all of _Brooklyn Nine-Nine_ in preparation for the second season coming out, and Theon is kind of drooling over Terry Crews’ biceps and Rosa Diaz’s everything.

"I gotta go," Robb says, as on-screen, Terry Crews screeches adorably and fires at a fucking _pinata_. Theon loves this show, it’s hilarious and everyone is very easy on the eyes (except maybe Boyle). “Nature calls, all that.”

"Come back soon as you can or you’ll miss the best part," Theon says, and Robb laughs and dips in for a kiss. It’s brief and it’s chaste, not even any tongue, but jesus does Theon’s stomach start flipping on him.

And if he engages in a little bit of ogling before the door shuts behind Robb, well, who’ll blame him? Robb is his boyfriend, it’s kind of his sacred duty to stare longingly at Robb’s ass in skinny jeans.

He settles in to watch some more of the episode, but then not a minute later, Arya Stark pushes the door open, looking dead serious.

Theon pauses the episode and straightens up. Arya’s presence in his and Robb’s shared apartment usually does not bode well, and often means staying up late to help her with Algebra. “Something wrong?” he worriedly asks.

"So," she says. "You and Robb?"

"Uh, yes," he says. "Me and Robb. Arya, what the _hell_ , you were there when we came out.”

"I was," she says casually. "Did you know the first rule of swordfighting, according to Syrio?"

For a second Theon draws a blank on the name, then he remembers—the bald guy who teaches swordfighting every summer. Arya’s one of his best students, so much so that he’s deigned to give her private, more thorough lessons. She’s really enthusiastic about the whole thing.

"I have no idea, no," he says carefully.

She hums, plucks a ballpen from her pockets. She uncaps it, and says, “Stick ‘em with the pointy end.”

And before he can say anything else she’s stabbed the pen down onto the table, where it stays standing up, embedded deep into the table. Near his _feet_.

He makes a small, strangled noise at the back of his throat.

"Hurt him," she says pleasantly, "and I’ll stick you with the pointy end."

He nods. Weird, his voice is suddenly not working at all, and it takes him some effort to squeak, “Yes, ma’am.”

"Great!" she chirps, and pulls the ballpen out of the table and walks out.

Theon lets his head fall back, and groans. Christ, he really should’ve seen this coming. And that’s just Arya—it’s likely the rest of them will probably start judging him thoroughly too. Hell, he’s pretty sure Mrs. Stark is judging him already every time he heads over to the Starks’ family home for Sunday dinner.

_Christ._

—

Jon corners Theon the next day in before Theon’s Philosophy class and says, “I took my Criminalistics exams three days ago.”

Theon blinks at him. “So?” he asks.

"So," Jon says, "I know three different ways of killing someone with a bread knife."

"Oh my god," Theon says, the light dawning on him, "you’re giving me the shovel talk."

"Astute of you, Greyjoy," Jon snorts. "It’s just for formality’s sake, mind. I know you and Robb are smitten with each other, god knows why, and I know you wouldn’t do anything to hurt him intentionally, but—well. You know. Tradition."

"You’re going to kill me with a bread knife," Theon says, deadpan. "And hide the body in tiny little pieces so nobody ever finds it. Yeah, I know. Your sister threatened to stick me with the pointy end, Stark, I got the point already."

Jon snorts, and Theon silently revels in his punny victory. “Well, I don’t have to spell it out for you, then,” he says, then hesitates, as if he thinks he'll regret saying anything more, before he continues: “And—honestly, I think you’ll both work out just fine.”

"Approval from the half-brother, that was just what I needed," Theon says, because he can't resist, and Jon narrows his eyes at him.

"Don’t make me take it back, Greyjoy," Jon warns.

—

The next time Theon’s at the Starks’ family home, Sansa perches herself on top of the kitchen counter and says, “You remember Robb’s second girlfriend, right?”

Theon makes a face. “Talisa, yeah,” he mutters. Hard to forget her—Jeyne had been kind, sweet, the sort of girl who’d bake cookies for fundraisers, just Robb’s type save for her moving away end of senior year. Talisa was a _complete disaster_ , and Theon would spit at the mention of her if it didn’t make Robb sad.

As it is, he pops the lid off the Nutella jar with more force than strictly necessary, and jams his spoon into the Nutella with prejudice.

"You know how stressful it was to be around him afterwards, right?" Sansa says.

Theon winces. “I’m the guy who lives with him, I know how he gets after break-ups,” he says, scooping out a spoonful of Nutella. “Mopes around the place, blames himself for everything that went wrong, watches so many rom-coms while eating Ben & Jerry’s that it’s a wonder his teeth don’t rot and fall off and his brain doesn’t freeze over permanently.” He pauses, squints at Sansa, smiling beatifically, and points his spoon at her. “You’re trying to give me the shovel talk, aren’t you?”

"You’re pretty slow on the uptake, but yep," she says, cheerfully. "If you hurt him, we’re going to have a very long _talk_.”

The way she emphasizes “talk”, with a little smile on her face that makes him think about Margaery Tyrell smiling just before verbally destroying someone's drunken attempts at flirting with her, sends a chill down Theon’s spine. He nods, then jams the spoon into his mouth, Nutella and all, and makes a small, whimpering noise, the moment she hops off the perch and walks out of earshot.

Shit, fuck, _why_.

—

Bran and Rickon double-team him as he’s baby-sitting for them, the next Saturday. Robb and Jon are off to San Diego for Comic-Con, the bastards. Sansa’s at ballet rehearsals, Arya’s gone to her weekend swordfighting lessons, and Mr. and Mrs. Stark are most likely having the time of their lives over at the Baratheons’, and Meera Reed the usual baby-sitter is in the hospital looking after Jojen.

(And Christ, had Bran panicked when he heard that Jojen was in the hospital again. Then again, when your first boyfriend lands himself in the hospital because of his chronic illness and you can’t do a damn thing but wait anxiously on his sister’s call, panicking is a pretty normal reaction.

Hell, it’s a miracle he’s even keeping himself together right now.)

Which, of course, leaves Bran and Rickon all alone in the house, and Theon as their sole caretaker for an entire weekend. He’s not too terrified by the prospect—it’s just for two days, and he can handle Bran and Rickon well enough. He has before, in fact.

He’s six hours in and bullshitting his way through an all-important paper due tomorrow when Rickon wheels Bran up to him, the both of them with deadly serious looks on their faces.

He looks up from his laptop and says, “What’s up, you two?”

Instead of answering, Rickon puts two fingers into his mouth and whistles.

Five Stark dogs charge into the room, barking madly, and Theon nearly falls off the couch in surprise. Nearly, because he has his laptop and he has to finish this paper and _oh god oh god oh god I’m dead I’m so dead._

He thinks back to Grey Wind, the tiny but fierce grey puppy that’s rapidly taking up more and more space in his and Robb's shared apartment, and silently thanks whatever deity is out there looking out for him that Grey Wind is currently asleep in the kitchen and also very, very fond of him. Humping his pant leg fond of him, actually.

Maybe he’s not that thankful, actually.

He sets his laptop carefully aside, then holds his hands up. The dogs are all of varying sizes and breeds, and usually Lady the chow chow, Summer the corgi and Nymeria the pitbull puppy are about as terrifying as balls of pink fluff. Shaggydog, however, is a fucking _Rottweiler_.

Also, they’re all growling at him.

He does not whimper, but it’s a damn near thing.

"Call them off, Rickon," Bran says, and bless his tiny little heart, he actually looks like he’s taking pity on Theon.

Rickon huffs, and whistles again. The dogs all back off, and Theon breathes a little easier.

"Okay," he says, "you’ve made your point. I hurt Robb, you’ll sic every single one of your dogs on me."

"Good," Rickon says, and then marches off, leaving Bran behind.

Bran sighs. “I told him not to,” he says, “but it’s kind of a family tradition. Sorry, Theon. If it helps, I think you two will work out just fine.”

Theon lets out a sigh of relief. “Well, good,” he says. “Want me to wheel you to the kitchen and make you snacks? I need one, anyway, I think my fingers are going to lock up in revolt if I type one more word.”

Bran nods, and hesitates a moment. “Has Meera called?” he asks, at last, sounding like a scared fifteen-year-old kid in love with someone he knows might not live through the night.

Theon shakes his head, but puts a hand over Bran’s. “She’ll call,” he says. “It’ll be okay. Jojen makes it through the night, chances are the second we get the okay we’ll head over to the hospital and you can see him.”

"If he doesn’t?" Bran asks, quietly.

Theon, for a moment, considers lying, saying that of course he will, but Bran probably won’t appreciate sugarcoating. He lets out a breath, runs his free hand through his hair. “Shit happens,” he says, at last. “Life sucks, all that. But you’ll remember him, and the times you two had. It’ll be okay after a while.”

Bran gives a tired breath. “You know, you and Robb have a lot more in common than you think,” he says.

"Oh?"

"Remember when you were in the hospital, after that thing with Bolton?"

Theon closes his eyes, breathes in and out. “Some,” he says.

"We were worried about you, but he was the one who was scared most. Rickon asked him what he’d do, if you didn’t make it through the night. I—sort of overheard." Bran exhales, and has the decency to look a little ashamed for having divulged such a private conversation. "He said that he wouldn’t be okay, not really, not for a while. But he’d remember you and all the times you had together, and that would be enough. Almost. I saw the way he looked then."

"What, almost?” He’s fine. He’s _fine_ , there’s just some dust in his eyes.

"I think he figured out he loved you," Bran says, and Bran has always been one of the most observant Starks that Theon knows. "And he didn’t know how to say it."

"Yeah," Theon says, the paper and the laptop all forgotten, "we do have a lot in common."

(Jojen makes it through the night. Theon can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief, then.)

—

Mr. and Mrs. Stark sit him down at the kitchen table, after six months have gone by. They have deadly serious looks on their faces, and Theon might be a hair’s breadth from pissing his pants, because Ned Stark’s the fucking Sheriff and Catelyn Stark has been known to slap the shit out of anyone who dares displease her greatly.

All right, he’s exaggerating, but only slightly.

"Is this a shovel talk?" Theon asks them, trying for casual and falling all too short of the mark. They’re six months overdue for one, after all.

Mr. Stark just steeples his fingers. “What do you think it is?” he asks.

Theon gulps.

Then Mrs. Stark smiles, warm and bright and sunny, and—hell, that’s not actually what Theon’s expecting at all. “Nothing of the sort, Theon,” she says. “I imagine you’ve already heard it from everyone else in this household, and I assure you, we only want to talk with you.”

Mr. Stark grins, too, the kind Theon rarely ever sees aimed at him. It’s a mischievous kind of grin, the same grin Robb sometimes gets when he’s planning something truly spectacular. “First of all,” he says, “we think it’s clear enough that you care about our son, and he’s made no secret of caring for you right back.”

"Uh," Theon says intelligently.

"Second," Mr. Stark continues, "personally, I thought you wouldn’t make it past a month, given your reputation. As you can see, you’ve disproven that notion, and thoroughly at that. To you, Theon Greyjoy, I extend my deepest apologies and sincerest congratulations."

"Um," Theon says. "Thanks? Sir. I’m glad."

"And third," Mrs. Stark adds, leaning forward, "do you plan on making an honest man out of my son?"

" _Mom_ ," someone huffs from the kitchen doorway, and Theon turns to look at Robb, his arms folded across his chest, "it’s only been six months. It’s a little early to be going from the shovel talk to the honest man talk."

"He is right, Catelyn," Mr. Stark says.

"If he wants me to, sure," Theon says, and claps a hand over his mouth. His brain-to-mouth filter has failed him, the fucking thing. "I mean—"

Robb’s gaze softens, and he smiles. “Yeah,” he says, and with one word sets butterflies flying in Theon’s stomach. “Yeah, he wants you to.” He shrugs, and walks over to lean on Theon’s chair. “But, uh, after college? Because I’m not going to be able to keep up with Mom in a wedding planning frenzy and finals at the same time. You've seen how Mom gets when she's planning a wedding—she goes all-out and starts scaring people.”

"I do not scare people!" Mrs. Stark huffs.

"Yes, darling, you do," Mr. Stark serenely says.

Theon turns and leans back, meets Robb’s gaze. “Yeah,” he says, “god knows you in a tux would distract me from the biology of whales—”

"Well, will you look at the time," Mr. Stark interrupts, standing up suddenly. "It’s been a good talk, Theon, but if Catelyn and I stay here any longer, we may risk missing the PTA meeting."

Mrs. Stark sighs, and stands up as well, following her husband out of the kitchen, but Theon sees her look back at them, and mouth, _Not in the kitchen._ Then she leaves as well.

Robb laughs, and then leans forward, pressing a chaste kiss against Theon’s lips. Theon smirks into the kiss, and raises one hand up and rests it in Robb’s hair, pulling him in closer and deepening the kiss.

They break apart after what seems like hours (but is really just a minute), and Robb says, “Let’s take this home.”


End file.
